Freaking Atlantis
by Tug cost
Summary: Max is a girl who has lived her life underwater, always dreaming of living another life above land. When the right opportunity comes for her to finally leave the water and live on land, her dreams, will she take it? And will she meet the flock on the way?
1. Chapter 1

_Gurgle, gurgle. Glug, glug._

That's what I heard as I woke up. Just two measly gurgles and two measly glugs coming from my porthole window. Isn't that a nice way to wake up, instead of an alarm clock blaring in your ears, it's a fish gurgling and glugging in your ear? And yes, before you ask, I _did _say porthole and fish.

But of course, I'm getting ahead of myself. I'll start by introducing myself, in case you're too confused, which you probably are. I'm Maximum Ride, Max for short. 14 years old, tall, with brown hair, streaked with blonde and brown eyes, strong, stealthy, sarcastic, a snarky attitude, and hmm, am I missing anything? Oh yeah, how 'bout the fact that I live _underwater? _

Yeah, an underwater city, kind of like Atlantis. And before you jump to conclusions, I don't have gills and I can't breathe under water! Nah, I've pretty much lived here, at the bottom of the Atlantic in this everlasting air supply, submarine-like, underwater colony for my whole life. No palm trees, no land animals, no sun, no wind, heck, not even Wi-Fi! How's a girl got to enjoy herself around here, huh?

I'll tell you exactly how. Two words: annoying Ari. Ari's my 12 year old half-brother, my brotha' from anotha' motha', and let me tell you, it's as fun as heck to annoy him. He gets all mad, his floppy brown hair practically standing on the ends like he just got electrocuted, and you can almost see the steam coming from his ears, his chubby face turning an interesting color of magenta.

But don't get me wrong, I love Ari, we all do. Jeb, Jenna, Captain Trench, Lana, Ina, Elli, Josh, me, everyone! But I get bored sometimes—actually, make that all the time—and he just gets mad over the littlest things. Well, I guess dying his boxers a violent shade of pink and purple is not considered a "little thing." It just goes to show ya', huh?

Instead of going back to sleep like I would normally do, I forced myself out of bed, throwing back the covers and looking around for the only clean pair of shorts I had, a pair of cut off denim shorts. I hunted around a little more and then found my favorite T-shirt, a black Panic! At the Disco tee, at the bottom of my closet, underneath a stack of classics (ugh).

Slapping on my orange Converse and my trusty biker jacket, I strode out of my room, heading for the kitchen.

The underwater "city" was shaped like an E, turned on its side, with my room on the bottom line—or whatever—and the kitchen on the top line. I passed Ari's room on the way to the kitchen and I couldn't help but wonder if he was already at breakfast. I had checked the clock (yeah, we have clocks underwater) before I left my room and I found out it was 8:45, pretty early for me. Breakfast usually started at promptly 8:30, but since I almost always woke up at 12:00, I usually had breakfast with Ari, who was usually eating lunch by then.

Overall, there were about 150 people living here, most of them adults. There were about 100 adults and 50 kids. Out of the 50 kids here, I was the oldest. Most of them were either 12 year olds or younger, and there was just one other kid here that was around my age, which was Shawn, a 13 year old, overexcited little ball of energy.

A hymn of murmurs reached my ears by the time I was close to the kitchen and I pushed open the doors, surprising everyone who was eating breakfast.

Taking an empty seat next to Ari, I reached for a pancake that was on the plate next to him. I dabbed some Nutella on it, then poured a healthy amount of chocolate chips and then spritzed it with whipped cream, my idea of the ultimate super pancake. I wasn't paying that much attention to the conversation going on around me. I was too busy trying to focus on getting all the pancake bites into my mouth without dropping anything.

"So I think we should head out at noon today and then be back sometime next week—." That was the part that caught my attention.

"Wait, you're going up today?" I interrupted Jeb, who was sitting across from me. Forgetting my half-eaten pancake, I leaned towards Jeb, feigning casual interest.

"Going up" pretty much means that a bunch of people (grownups) are going to take a submarine up to the top and they're gonna stock up on new stuff. This usually happens every month, and even though I've been begging Jeb to take me, he replies with a firm no every time.

He nodded and then sighed, probably noticing my pout. "Sorry, sweetheart. You know my answer." And for those of you going, _what the fuck, _well, there's just one simple explanation: Jeb's my dad.

Yep, Jeb was my pa, the father of Ari and me. Jenna, his wife, is Ari's mother, and she also hates my guts. My mom? She is someone I've never met. The only thing I know about her is that one night she got unlucky and happened to meet Jeb in a bar. Pretty soon after, she was pregnant with me and as soon as I was born, Jeb had taken me and shipped me off to this underwater prison. So yeah, I'm a bar baby. What can I do?

"Why can't I?" I argued back. I was getting a little bit pissed off with taking only "no" for an answer. I want to go up, and that's final!

Now I sound like a two year old. Great.

Jeb looked surprised (I don't call him dad because, frankly, I'm a little bit ashamed of having been related to him). "It's too dangerous!" he stuttered, banging his fist down on the table. It only takes one little thing to set him off. Anger problems. I guess it runs in the family.

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? What, am I going to get eaten by a lion or something? You and I both know that I'll be _safe. _You just don't want me to go for some weird reason."

Now he was riled up. "Don't want you to go? Yes I don't want you to go! You belong down here, not up there! You were raised and taught here. Now stop being pigheaded. _You are not going up and that's final!" _

"Don't tell me what to do!" I yelled. By now, everyone had stopped their mindless chatter and focused on us. I was standing now, red in the face and glaring at Jeb, my breaths coming out in short little puffs. Ari had grabbed the hem of my shorts, as if to restrain me. Ha!

"Maximum Jebediah Anne Ride! I raised you better than this! You do not yell at me, nor do you argue with me! Now sit down before I send you back to your room!" He stood too, adopting the same posture as mine. My fists were slowly closing and unclosing beneath the tablecloth, my muscles slowly coiling and uncoiling.

"Maximum Ride, sit down. Now." When I didn't move, he started counting to three. "One." Pause. "Two." A tense pause. "Three." A long pause filled with unspoken tension. "Go to your room, now," Jeb hissed, his voice filled with barely controlled anger.

I ripped my leg out of Ari's grasp, then marched out of the kitchen and towards my room.

I slammed through the door of my room, shoulder first, and then rushed towards the closet. I yanked the door open, pulling out a duffel bag. I immediately started shoving clothes and other necessary items into my bag. One thought crossed my mind as I packed. _I'm getting on that submarine. _


	2. Chapter 2

**SO, THANKS TO ALL THE PEOPLE THAT REVIEWED AND FAVORITED THIS! I REALLY ENJOY MAKING STORIES FOR YOU GUYS. I'M GOING TO FINISH THIS STORY, EVEN IF I HAVE WRITERS BLOCK OR SOMETHING. I LIKE READING ALL OF YOUR REVIEWS, SO KEEP 'EM COMING; CRITICISM WELCOMED!**

**Oh yeah, I forgot the Disclaimer on the first chapter so, yeah. Here it is:**

**Disclaimer- I don't own Maximum Ride, Jeb or Hell's fiery lights. I do not look like James Patterson or Satan for that matter (at least I think I don't)**

**And with that note, carry on with the story!**

**With love from Nowhere,**

**~St. Ryro **

* * *

"So, tell me Jeb. What are we going to be collecting this time?" Captain Trench asked Jeb in a low, gruff voice, but not low enough, so I could easily hear everything they were saying softly from the position I was in.

I had managed to sneak onto the submarine easily; the submarine hatch being in a corridor near the hallway my room was in. I had snuck into a closet-like thing near the front of the submarine, and I left the doors open a little, so I could see and hear everything without actually being seen or heard.

I was in an awkward position; me kneeling on the floor with my bulky duffel bag in between my spread out legs. My hands were on either side of the heavy, wooden doors, positioned apart so my shoulders ached and I had to crane my neck to peer with one eye out of the crack I had made in the door. My back rested against something heavy that had fell when I had crawled in there. I couldn't move it or put it back on the shelf above my head in risk of it making any noise and being caught.

The duffel bag between my legs had been crammed with PB&J sandwiches and juice boxes, water bottles and cans of pop I had taken from the kitchen. Mary, the city's cook, had had her back turned at the time, ladling soup into individual colored plastic bowls for the younger kids' lunch. Among the sandwiches, I had a change of clothes, my red, orange and black Converse, my biker boots, my leather jacket and my iPod. And yes, I _do _have an iPod. Just because I live underwater doesn't mean I have to live my life like a caveman, drawing pictures on walls and grunting a lot. Jeez. And just for the record, if I drew pictures on the wall—using whatever cavemen used in their time. Not the washable Crayola markers either— and went around grunting all the time, I think Jeb would freak out and have a seizure. Just saying.

Jeb shrugged, glancing out the submarine's tiny window, watching the colorful and exotic Pacific fish drift by. We were close to the top; about another five minutes till we reached the town of Green Bay, as I collected from the conversations before. I was practically quivering with excitement, trying to avoid jumping up and down in anticipation (for two reasons: a) I didn't want to get caught and b) the ceiling of the closet-thing didn't look very soft for my head to go _blam _against it). How would it feel to be on the surface? What would life there be like? Is there school in Green Bay? What will the kids be like there? Where will I go, where will I live? Questions, questions.

Captain Trench was silent for a moment and then changed the course of the conversation to something a little bit more interesting, at least, for me anyways. "Are you ever going to tell Max about her mom, or leave her in the dark like you've been doing for her entire life?" My head snapped up, my ears perking up. Why were they talking about _me?_

"Yes, I'm going to tell her, but when she's….older. Not now," Jeb sighed, glancing around the submarine. There was a cluster of men—maybe 4 or 5—on the other side of the sub, and Hecktor, Jeb's brother (uncle Hecktor for me) and James, Mary's husband were standing a little ways away, talking in low tones as well.

"What was her mom's name? Valencia Martinez, right? She lives in the town we collect in. Oh…" Captain Trench trailed off, looking worried. He too, like Jeb, glanced around the submarine, checking for eavesdroppers. Clearly this was a sensitive subject, am I right?

"Yes, but keep it down," Jeb hissed. "I don't want anyone finding out and possibly telling Max."

"That's the problem. Why can't you tell Max about her mom? It's only fair she knows! She's a mature woman, almost 15 you know. That brings me to another thing! Let her come on raids! Max has been begging for ages!" At that moment, I very much liked Captain Trench.

"It's complicated." And with that, Jeb turned around and jumped into the conversation with Hecktor and James. And at _that _moment, I hated Jeb. More than usual, actually.

"We're approaching the top!" Captain Trench's shout had come after five minutes of silence, occasionally broken by the low murmurs of the people on board.

Everyone clustered around the tiny window, straining to see—you would think none of these people had been on a raid before. Someone's body pressed up against the closet door, which in turn clicked shut and I was plunged into blackness. I jumped back almost instinctively, my eyes blinking rapidly. My head banged on the back of the closet and it took all my willpower for me not to climb out of that closet and scream. My knees had snapped together during my jump backwards, my hands flying up to clutch the back of my head, as if to ease the dull pain filtering slowly through my throbbing brain. In turn, one of my elbows had clashed against the doors, sending another shockwave of pain through me.

All the people on board the sub were either deaf, or either extremely loud because no one came banging into the closet, demanding to know who, or what was making such a huge commotion.

I was in an even _more _awkward position than before, if possible. My duffel bag had migrated north, so now it was pressed up against the closet doors, sort of acting like a blockade between my knees and the wood on the other side. My legs were tangled up together so I was kind of sitting in Indian position, except lying down on the side. The elbow that had crashed into the doors was pushed into my face, somewhat stifling my barley suppressed shrieks. My hair had gotten tangled in the other hand, the nails digging into my head. Pleasant, hmm?

"Settle!" I heard Hecktor's low, gruff voice above the rest. I was allowed the pleasure of hearing because my right ear was pressed against the teeny tiny crack the door made at the bottom. "Settle!"

I heard a _pop, _and then everybody cheered. The cheers sounded like a cannon blast in my ears—a male cannon blast. I figured that we must have arrived, because I heard a sound like a lot of people walking away from something. Gradually, the voices faded and I found myself accompanied with the utmost silence.

Grinning, I reached up, finding the latch to let me out of the closet. The doors swept open, and I swung my legs out, standing up. I wobbled dangerously, my legs a little shaky from being cooped up not being used in a long time.

The room was completely empty, and I strode across it—once I had regained use of my legs—feeling triumphant and excited. Well, how would _you _feel if it was your first time in a place where you could step out a door and end up not being crushed like a pancake by pressure or being drowned? Yeah, think about it, please if you will.

I grabbed hold of the hatch lever, unlocked it and then stepped out of the submarine…

And then immediately shrieked, dropping to the floor and covering my eyes with my hands because someone just _happened_ to choose that moment to shine all of Hell's fiery light in my eyes, causing me to go instantly and painfully blind, I'm almost 100 percent sure of it.

Isn't _that _just pleasant, a walk in the park?


	3. Chapter 3

**Just a random thought: Do gay people need condoms? **

**Well, here it is: the third and fantastical chapter of Freaking Atlantis. Thanks for everyone who reviewed. You guys really make my day. **

**On with it, then!**

**With love from Nowhere,**

**~St. Ryro**

**PS- I don't own Panic at the disco (as much as I want to) or anything else except the plot.**

* * *

A strange, hazy, foggy mist lurked in the space behind my eyes, creeping into the room next to my eyes, making me view the world in shades of grey and dark white. And then it cleared as quickly as it had come, throwing my world into color again.

It was New Year's Eve, the night a black sea above my head, twinkling occasionally with stars, and I was riding a chestnut brown horse through a crowded plaza packed with throngs of chattering people.

Don't ask me how I knew it was New Year's Eve, I just did.

There were drunken shouts and cheers everywhere, mingling with the sounds of guitars, drums, keyboards and someone's familiar melodic voice; a band was playing on a giant stage in the middle of the crazy crowd. It took me a minute, but I soon recognized the band with overwhelming joy as one of my favorite bands, Panic! at the Disco.

The smell of smoke, food, sweat and alcohol greeted my nose and I tried to keep myself from gagging and throwing up. You would think that a teenage girl riding on a horse through a crowded place on New Year's Eve, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans in the freezing, bitter cold would cause some people to worry and panic. But no, no one payed me any attention as I rode through the crowd that was—in spite of me being invisible—parting in half as if I was Moses and they were the Red Sea.

And another weird thing? Even though it was bitter cold, even though I saw everyone bundled up in coats, scarves, gloves, etc. and still freezing their asses off, I couldn't _feel_ the cold. It was as if I and my horse—no one else—was encased in a warm bubble that kept the frigid air out.

The opening chords to I Write Sins, Not Tragedies started up, and I could feel and hear myself starting to vaguely hum to the captivating beat. The people around me began to go wild, all of them pushing other people in haste of trying to get to the front of the stage as fast as possible. It was as if the music had hypnotized them, as if the band was making the crowd want their music, like a drug. Making _me_ want the music as well.

"_Oh, well imagine; as I'm pacing the pews in a church corridor..."_ The females and some males—most likely gay—in the audience went crazy—me included—as soon as they heard Brendon Urie's voice start singing. There were frantic movements—frantic yells too—to get up to the stage, trying to touch Brendon, to rip at his clothes, to claw at his hair, to get a piece of his voice, anything.

I urged the horse—I decided to call him Pete—faster, weaving through the screaming crowd as quickly as possible. I was hypnotized, only one thought running laps in my mind: _get up on that stage. _

"_Oh, well in fact, well I'll look at it this way, I mean technically our marriage is safe...!"_

Pretty soon after that thought ran through my mind, I galloped to a halt near the stage, not even shedding a drop of sweat. I dismounted Pete, not caring about where he went, and stepped onto the stage. Mistake numero one.

As soon as I did that, a bright light clicked on and swiveled around, putting me directly in a beam of light, a spotlight. It highlighted my hair—which now had a bright crimson red streak running through it, as if it was bathed in blood—and my face. I was standing right next to the microphone for the guitarist, Ryan Ross. I could see that all of the members of the band's eyes were a deep crimson red with no pupils, their teeth sharpened to come to a dangerous point. Vampires? Nah, not rational.

The band had stopped playing, all of them setting down their instruments, but the music had continued on, playing from an unseen source; there were no speakers, no nothing where music could've been coming from in sight. I couldn't even pinpoint a source or an exact direction. The music flowed from everywhere.

I knew I should've been creeped out, but it was literally as if I had been put under a never ending spell. There was nothing in my control, nothing I could do, but there _was _a voice—a tiny one for that matter—that was screaming at me in my head to not go any closer. I didn't listen to it.

Ryan Ross turned toward me, his eyes glowing, his teeth bared. They had changed their clothes from casual black tuxes to tunics and capes, even though there was no possible way that someone could change _that _fast. The tuxes weren't even in sight. It was as if they had vanished into thin air.

The band clustered around me, a lime green ooze dripping from their teeth. Jon Walker had sharp, pointy claws—Wolverine claws—and Spencer Smith had a razor sharp knife clutched in his hand, which looked strained and pale, as if he was holding the knife as tight as possible because his life depended on it. I didn't even notice because I was too busy ogling them to notice _anything_. Mistake numero two.

"_Max," _they all said in unison, in super-duper creepy voices that you only hear in those cheesy horror flicks. They had the type of voices that belonged to stalkers, serial killers and _extremely_ gay people.

I was caught off-guard, wowed that my most favorite band in the whole world was talking to me and saying my name, let alone standing _this _close to me. "What?"

"_Max," _they repeated, in even more creepier voices. I could see Spencer clutching the knife in his hand tighter. His hand was now even paler and, if possible, almost stark white.

"What?" an uneasy feeling grew in the pit of my stomach. The persistent voice grew louder, now practically bellowing at me.

Jon stepped closer. He raised his claws. Spencer turned on his chainsaw. The claws, I noticed too late, had a dark red liquid dripping from the tips—blood. The drops dissolved into thin air a split second before they hit the ground. I watched them, fascinated.

As fast as lightning, the claws raked through the air, scraping across my face. My head exploded in pain and I felt blood seeping through the cuts and down my chin.

More pain racked through my body, but from my torso this time. I raised a throbbing hand to my stomach and felt blood collect there also.

Pain, pain, more pain. I think someone screamed and I think it was me.

* * *

I woke up with a gasp, sweating. It took me a few minutes to calm down, and by then, I could vaguely make out my surroundings.

I was in a light blue bed in a neon orange room. There were posters of various singers and bands on the walls. A bunch of stuffed animals were bunched up in the corner of the room on a cream colored carpet floor, near the door. There was a huge glass window scaling the east wall, looking out over a lush green forest with vibrant green grass and a blue pond. Wow. They must have a nice lawnmower.

Now you're probably asking: Max, how do you know all this, about forests and grass and ponds, if I spent my life underwater? The answer is actually quite simple. Jeb used to bring books back from raids and I used to read them all the time and look at the pictures. Guess what some of the books' pictures were of. Forests? Grass? Ponds and lakes? Bingo.

At the mention of Jeb, it all came rushing back to me. The submarine, the closet, the bright light, me going blind. If I wasn't blind, then how come I could see all this? And where was I? Was I dead?

And then I got my answer. _Kidnapped. _I was kidnapped by some random hooligan and they were planning to do something to me, something bad. Suddenly, I felt very cold in the middle of the warm bed and a shiver danced up my spine.

I opened my mouth and screamed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Random thought: Do they bury people with their braces on?**

**Bonjour! **

**Drum roll: It's chapter four, the long awaited chapter that I spent countless months perfecting-nah, not really. Chapter five will maybe come out tomorrow or the day after tomorrow... **

**I got another story out. It's called Why P!ATD broke up. I just wrote it after reading a Tumblr post yesterday, kind of a spur of the moment thing. Not very good, check it out if you love P!ATD, like moi.**

**Nothing else to say so, **

**Au revoir! **

**With love from Nowhere,**

**~St. Ryro**

* * *

The door flung open—sending stuffed animals of every shape, color and size flying everywhere—with a crash and my screaming faltered, growing quieter and quieter and then eventually dying. A girl about twelve ran in the open door, looking concerned and a tiny bit worried. She had curly, corkscrew light brown hair that framed her young, surprised face. Her smooth, mocha-colored skin clashed nicely with her chocolate mousse colored eyes, set above high cheekbones, a crooked nose and rosy lips.

"What! What happened?" she cried in a high pitched voice. I, being the dork I am, found something in her voice somehow funny and started immediately laughing my ass off like an escaped maniac from a mental hospital, causing my pillow to fall off the side of the bed and make a not-so comfortable landing on the floor.

The girl stared at me like, well, like I was an escaped maniac from a mental hospital. "What's so funny? Is it my hair, is it my face? Do I have something in my teeth?" She opened her mouth and dug her finger around in her mouth anxiously, the tip of her nail dipping in between the gap next to her teeth. _O_f course, that just made me laugh harder and louder.

"_What's so funny?" _The tone she was using shut me up quickly. I straightened up in the bed, retrieving and then stuffing the fallen pillow behind my head, leaning back onto the headboard.

"Nothing, sorry. I'm Max," I said with a smile. I wanted to actually make friends here, not be a social reject on my first day. I could at least make an effort.

She regained her composure quickly, surprised that I had laughed stopping so quickly, stepping up to me and extending her hand. I shook it reluctantly; I'm not big on shaking hands or any kind of physical contact for that matter. "I'm Isabel Fowler. But call me Nudge. It's my nickname," she said brightly. Isabel? This surprised me. She looked, to me at least, like a Monique.

"Cool, but I have questions for you. So, how did you find me and, um, _where _did you find me?" I asked, getting right to the heart of the matter.

"_O_h you were lying on the dock. My brother and I found you passed out cold, face first. _O_ur family was at the beach and Raj and I were taking a walk, when we found you! So we took you back here. This is actually my sister's room, Lauren. _O_ur mom is nice enough that she let us take you in, or at least, for a little while. Where did you come from?"

I quickly scrambled around in my mind for an answer to Nudge's question. I didn't want to tell them that I came from a city underwater. No, I _wanted_ to make friends here, not make people think I was a freak. Maybe, if we really became best friends with Nudge, I might tell her that I came from underwater. Maybe, just maybe. So I made one of my famous snap decisions and decided on an answer. "Er, I don't really know. See, I have amnesia." Jeb had had a bunch of books on amnesia in his study and I began to read one out of boredom. The first few pages gave me enough information to go along with my plan.

Nudge's eyes got really big and she gasped, her tiny hand reaching up to cover her shaking mouth. "_Amnesia? _Really? _O_h my God! That's horrible! I can't imagine how sad you must feel to be away from your family, away from everyone and everything you love!"

_I actually don't mind being away from Jeb, _I thought snidely. But then I thought of Ari and I felt an overwhelming wave of fresh guilt wash over me. I opened up my mouth to speak, but, see, I never really got the chance to because at that moment,the door flew open with a bang, and I screamed for about the gazillionth time today. What the fuck is up with people and not being able to open doors _nicely?_

"Is she awake?" A tall boy, about Nudge's age, had entered, slamming—much to my irritation—the door shut behind him. He had blonde hair that was short and spiked up. Strings of green and blue ran through the hair on the back of his head and the tips of the spikes were red. He had electric blue eyes that held mischief, but innocence and pale skin. Nudge nodded.

He grinned. "Hey, I'm Raj, Nudge's twin brother." I quirked an eyebrow. _Raj _is _Nudge's _twin brother? I'm sorry but, Raj with his pale skin and blue eyes and Nudge with her mocha skin and brown eyes could not, in no way possible, be twins.

"I'm Max."

Raj laughed, clearly noticing my raised eyebrow—which I had spent hours in front of my bedroom mirror perfecting. "Yeah, I don't know either. Mom looks just like me, and Nudge, I guess looks like our dad. But we don't really know our dad. He left before either of us was born. Lauren says he was a real asshole and left mom heartbroken." Nudge gave me a crooked, sad grin.

"Where's this amazing Lauren that you guys keep talking about?" I asked them. I was kind of anxious to meet the oh-so fascinating Lauren that everyone was kept jabbering about.

"Come on, we'll show you!" Raj exclaimed enthusiastically. He took my hand and pulled me out of bed. I stumbled and would've fallen if Raj hadn't been holding my hand and keeping me up. Nudge followed behind us, unusually silent.

"I take it you don't like Lauren that much?" I asked Nudge, twisting my head around to look at her. She shrugged and looked away. Yeah, she definitely did not like this Lauren chick.

Raj led us out into a grey hall and then turned right, leading me to the shiny wood staircase at the end of the corridor. We clomped down it and then walked into a room on the left, which turned out to be the kitchen.

Smells of Italian food drifted out to me and into my nose from the kitchen, making my mouth water a little bit. I had always had a soft spot for Italian food. Raj, who was standing in front of me, was blocking my view of the kitchen, so I couldn't really see anything except the back of his spiky head. Man, for a twelve year old, he was freaking tall, taller than _me_ and that's saying something. What do they feed kids up here? Radioactive growth drinks?

"Hey mom, she's awake." Raj moved a little bit to the left so I could finally see a little bit of the kitchen and my eyes widened a bit.

In front of me was a traditional family scene you see in movies. A lady that was about thirty five stood in front of a light brown counter, chopping some type of green vegetable. She was the perfect copy of Raj, with blonde hair—although without the festive colors thrown in—and the exact same shade of blue his eyes were. Raj and Nudge's mom grinned at me.

"Sleep well?" Her voice was light and gentle. The voice that I imagined a real mom would have.

I nodded, looking past her. The kitchen opened up into the living room, complete with a small TV, a bookcase, two couches, one recliner and a huge stereo. Numerous games, DVDS, movies, books, you name it were scattered all over the floor, only patches of the soft looking white carpet showing.

On one of the couches sat a girl and a boy. The girl had long dirty blonde hair that reached her shoulders. She had tan skin, with a light dusting of freckles on her cheeks and slightly angular nose and green eyes. Tall and slender, looking to be about seventeen, this, I guessed, must have been the famous Lauren. The Lauren that Nudge didn't like.

The boy sitting next to her had shaggy black hair that brushed across his face in a graceful arc. He had really dark brown eyes, that seemed black at first, but if you looked more carefully, they were really a very dark shade of brown. His skin was smooth and porcelain; not a hint of pimples, freckles or blemishes, but yet, he couldn't have been a day over fourteen. He too was tall and slender, but muscular, as if he could take even the toughest of people out with a single slap. The boy was…

Well, he was the most gorgeous thing I had ever seen in my life.


	5. Chapter 5

**Random thoughts of the day (2): 1) Do they have the word "dictionary" in the dictionary? 2) How do animals have sex?**

**Sveiki (That's hello in Lithuanian)!**

**I'm getting good, ain't I? Two chapters in one day. Woo! So, without further ado, here it is: Chapter 5!**

**And I know you guys might have been going "ugh" at the "Ryan Rossier" part, in reference to Panic! at the Disco/The Young Veins. So what? I like them and him. Problem? I should think not!**

** Sudie (Goodbye in Lithuanian)!**

**With love from Nowhere, **

**~St. Ryro **

* * *

I was quite unaware that I possibly made a huge and complete fool (ass) out of myself in front of a guy that might have been future boyfriend, just standing there, ogling at the poor boy. But, I mean, I couldn't help it! It's not my fault that his looks were just so stare-worthy and that he had a short sleeved shirt on so it showed off his muscular, olive toned arms…

"Uh, Max?" Raj asked me, shaking my shoulder a little bit. I snapped out of whatever trance I was in and looked away from the guy, trying to fight a wee little blush that was creeping into my cheeks. My hand wound its way up to my mouth and I felt around there with a sigh of relief; no drool.

"What?" I said, turning to Raj. Nudge, who had walked in behind me and Raj, stared at me, much like the way I had been staring at my possible future boyfriend on the couch just a few seconds ago. "_What?"_

Someone cleared their throat loudly behind me. I turned around to find Lauren a few feet away from me, running three fingers through her hair. Wow. This Lauren girl could make a very good professional stalker/creeper one day. "So you're dock girl?" she asked me, smiling. She seemed nice, but of course, she could always have split personalities.

I coughed into my hand. "It's Max. Just Max." She nodded and extended her arm for me to shake. I glanced at her outstretched hand and then back up at her. "I don't shake hands."

She seemed baffled—don't you just love that word? Baffled—by this comment but then managed a small, surprised nod. "So, Max. Where're you from?" There it was folks, the million dollar question. The question I desperately wanted to avoid and I just so managed to forget the answer I had given to Nudge. But I had a feeling that it had to do with forgetting so…

Luckily for me, Nudge piped up for the first time upon entering the kitchen. "Max has amnesia. She doesn't remember anything," Nudge's voice was low and sulky, as if she really didn't want to be here. I was guessing she probably didn't, given that she didn't exactly have the warmest feelings toward Lauren.

Lauren looked horrified. "Amnesia? That's so creepy, not to mention horrible! I feel sooo bad for you!" More or less like same response I got from Nudge when she learned about my "amnesia."

Raj, who I had forgotten hadn't known about the amnesia, had a less shocked response. "Amnesia, isn't that a disease that makes you forget stuff? Oh wow, that's totally awesome, Max! What does it feel like? Can you remember anything at all? Or at least, can you remember anything about how you actually got amnesia? I wonder how it'd feel like to have it! I bet it's totally cool, right—." Nudge slapped a hand over Raj's mouth. I had to remind myself to thank Nudge. Jeez, could that boy talk! I thought Shawn, back on the ol' submarine, was the only guy—or person, for that matter—that could talk that much!

While Raj had been running his mouth, my future boyfriend that had been previously sitting on the couch, had migrated toward us, coming to stand next to Lauren. A little _too _close, if you ask me.

And then it hit me like a ton of freaking _heavy_ bricks. Mystery Hot Guy was Lauren's boyfriend! I was just drooling over a taken man. And not just any taken man, either. No, it just had to be the boyfriend of my maybe-future-best-friends' sister! If stupidity was a sport, I would've gone home with the gold medal.

I looked down, my face flushing in embarrassment and mortification. God, I would _never _live this down. No wonder Raj and Nudge had been gawking at me like I had just grown two more heads; I had been mentally undressing their sister's boyfriend with my own eyes. That, my dears, is sexual harassment in some countries. So really, I was actually a dirty sexual harasser. They should just lock me up somewhere and be done with it.

"I'm Dr. Lemon," Lauren, Raj and Nudge's mother said, coming toward us, abandoning her platter of unknown vegetables in mid-chop, wiping her not-so dirty fingers on her black apron. I had a mental laughing fit in my head at the mention of their last name. "As you know, I'm Lauren, Raj and Nudge's mother. This is Ryan Rossier. Ryan meet Max. Max meet Ryan. Ryan is a friend of Lauren's, dear." My heart soared. So Mystery Hot Guy—Ryan, whatever—_wasn't _gorgeous Lauren's boyfriend. And then, my hope dimmed again. But, Dr. Lemon—that name _still_ cracked me up—_could _actually be lying. Not all people are what they seem. Dr. Lemon could be an _evil_ mother in disguise, waiting for poor, innocent, helpless victims so she can take them under her wing, causing them to trust her and then..BAM! She quickly crushes their hopes and dreams, making them go into depression and spend years in a hospital, trying to get over the trauma of having someone stomp on your heart.

…

You think? Nah.

Ryan nodded at me. If someone nods at you, then that means they like you, right? Golly Gee, I sure do hope so. "Yo." Ryan could say anything and make it sound positively sexy. _God. _

"Hi," I said casually, as if I hadn't been fawning over him a couple of minutes ago. On the outside? I was playing it cool. But on the inside, I was having a complete freakdown—I'm pretty sure it's a word, okay?

"Oh, but don't call him Ryan, dear. Call him Fang. Everyone here has nicknames, except for Raj and you. Lauren is Angel, Isabel is Nudge, and Ryan here is Fang. It's this trend people are going through these days." Dr. Lemon (insert mental laughing fit, witnessed in the previous chapter, here) seemed like a totally cool mom—despite the fact that I had been totally ragging on her earlier in the chapter. She seemed like the type of mom that would let you break curfew so you could go to a Panic! at the Disco concert. Okay! Okay! I'm obsessed with them, aren't I? (People reading this have to go: Yeah, yeah, but it's totally okay. We love them too!)

I turned to Raj. "We need to get you a nickname." Topic averted away from me and my obsession over P!ATD.

"You need one too!" he argued back. I ruffled his hair, as if we were any normal brother and sister pair, bickering on Sundays over who gets the TV in the morning or on Fridays over who gets the car to go out with their friends. Typical.

And then, well, the most horrible smell ever erupted in that tiny kitchen.

I gagged, covering my face with my tee. I could see that everyone else except Raj had ducked under their shirts, hiding their faces. Lauren—or should I say, Angel?—and Ryan—Fang—were on the floor under the table, whereas Nudge had backed out of the room. I was the only one standing with Raj. Dr. Lemon was in the living room with the plate of vegetables in one hand. Poor lady. Probably didn't want her vegetables to get infested with that horrible smell coming from…

And then it hit me again with—bricks again? I'm getting a fucking headache here! The smell was coming from _Raj. _Sweet, little _Raj _just cut _the cheese._ Oh my God! This kid is a total riot!

"Holy crap, Raj. Was that you?" I asked for confirmation from behind my shirt. Hey, just because I guessed, doesn't mean I was right! I can't read minds or anything absurd like that.

Raj nodded, a toothy smile gracing his lips. He didn't seem the least bit embarrassed over what he had just done, practically taking away the ability for us to smell ever again. "In the flesh."

I turned to Nudge, who had reappeared magically(hey! Give it up for Nudge, the amazing disappear-er and reappear-er), and then Angel, who was still under the table, pressed up against Fang, much to my distaste. "I'm so very sorry for you guys." I grinned, to let Raj know that I was kidding.

And then it dawned on me. Cue singing angels, sunlight shining on me and wind blowing my hair away from my face, looking ridiculously beautiful, the look that actors and actresses can pull off in the cheesy movies.

"Gazzy!" I shouted. Everyone looked at me like I was crazy. Even, as I sadly noted, Fang, who had been a possible candidate for my boyfriend in the future. I have _no _chance with him now.

"Raj's nickname! We should call him Gazzy!" I shouted at them again, trying to explain better and to regain my chance with Fang, showing him that I'm _not _crazy nor am I an insane stalker that stares at boys they had just met.

Raj laughed, a wicked grin spreading on his face. "That's perfect!" Nudge, Angel, Fang and Dr. Lemon blinked in shock at either a) my brilliant ability at making things up on the spot, or b) how insane the nickname was. I'm probably thinking it was a.

Raj—or should I say, Gazzy?—grabbed my hand and we started crazy dancing in the middle of a small kitchen that smelled like a toxic waste dump. Crazy dancing, my dear friends, is basically jumping up in down while moving all over the place. Pretty soon Nudge joined in our crazy jumping fest, and then Angel joined in with Fang and then Dr. Lemon even jumped around for a little while before going back to chopping her mysterious vegetables.

If anyone would've taken a picture of us four jumping around on that day, you would've said we were crazy. I plainly see it as a normal, American day with your maybe-best-friends, their sister and a mysterious hot guy that you have a crush on the size of Nebraska.

Perfect. Now all we need is some Betty Crocker brownies, a Martha Stewart cook book and a couple dozen cats and dogs, and then we're all set.


	6. Chapter 6

**Just a random thought: Why doesn't McDonalds sell hotdogs?**

**Здравствуйте!**

**^ That's hello in Russian.**

**Sorry everyone, for the long wait. It won't happen again, promise!**

**I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed or added this story to your favorites. You guys are awesome!**

**On that note, Chapter 6 of Freaking Atlantis!**

**With love from Nowhere,**

**~St. Ryro **

* * *

"You're starting school this week!"

Those five words are enough to strike fear into about every teenager in America's heart. School is pretty much the equivalent of hell; you go there, learn useless stuff, vicious people spread rumors about you, you see everyone you hate and loathe and it's basically just a shitty experience. Basically no one likes school. Well, no one who's actually _normal _likes school. I, for one, _hate _school. Absolutely, positively hate school. Even more than my hate for Sarah Palin or Roni Deutch—from those annoying commercials—or even _Jeb_. That much. Yeah, imagine.

"You're going to school to meet new friends!" Dr. Lemon—yes, I still weirdly giggle hysterically at her name—exclaimed to me at dinner one night. I had been staying at the Lemon household for about a week. I had my own room (painted black and orange), bathroom and everything! Even Fang—in spite of the fact that I basically had raped him with my eyes the previous week—had even come over a lot and we hung out, despite my tendency to stare at him, but oh well, what can we do? And, bonus! Turns out he's a big Panic! at the Disco fan too. I was super excited about that; maybe, in the future, once we got past the fact that I was practically _almost _half-fish and had quite a tendency to stare at him, we might have a decent wedding, like that one in the I Write Sins Not Tragedies video, except, without the whole "whore" part.

My fork, which had been halfway up to my mouth, clattered onto the plate. "I don't want to go to school, nor do I _need _to go to school!" I angrily shot back at Dr. Lemon, surprising everyone else. Everyone had paused, their eyes trained on either me or Dr. L. Fang, who had come over for dinner this night, shot me a warning glance, a don't-you-dare-argue-with-Dr.-Lemon-or-you're-going-to-regret-it look. I ignored it, however.

"You need a proper education. You can't just stay here all day long. Pretty soon Gazzy, Angel and Nudge are going to be back to school after a long Spring break and I'll have to go to work at the Veterinarian office. Who's going to keep you company?" Dr. L demanded, looking a tad bit mental.

"I'll have Edward Egg to stay with me!" I said in a _duh _voice. Edward Egg was Gazzy and Nudge's dog, not so much Angel's. Over the time I had stayed here, we had built up a pretty strong relationship, consisting of me giving Edward my table scraps and him being friendly to me and staying out of my way.

At the mention of his name, Edward Egg came bounding into the room and up to me, nudging my leg with his enormous head. _Probably looking for table scraps, I presume, _I thought in my head.

Fang snorted into his glass of water. He ended up choking and Gazzy had to thump him hardly on the back a few times. Coughing and spluttering, he even managed to look good, even hot…Mmmm…

OKAY, CHANGE THE CHANNEL!

I managed to send Fang a glare, even though my brain was telling me—no, make it _urging _and _demanding _me—to haul him up and kiss him senseless right there, in front of everyone. But that would be awkward and a tad bit weird. "Anyways, Edward Egg will protect me from any robbers or creepers, right Ed?" I scratched him behind the ear, where he liked it, and gave him a piece of my turkey. He slobbered all over it with me watching in disgust.

"Don't be silly! Edward comes with me to work!" Dr. Lemon exclaimed in a tone suggesting that I was either very stupid or very retarded. Well, excuse _me _(insert little eye roll and finger snap).

"You're going and that's final. Fang, be a dear and pass me the fried asparagus. Gazzy, stop playing with your food and Angel, stop texting Brad." That was it, case closed. Ugh, _grownups._

In case you're wondering, and I bet you probably are, Brad is Angel's _boyfriend. _Cue exclaims of shock and surprise, Fang isn't Angel's boy-toy! Woo.

I actually met Brad a few days after I first arrived in Green Bay. He was tall and skinny with blue eyes and sandy blonde hair. Jesus Christ! Does _everyone _in this stupid town have to have blonde hair and blue eyes and has to be tall and skinny? With the exception of Nudge and Fang, of course. And me, I guess.

Oh, and we also call him "Iggy," but I have absolutely no freaking idea exactly as to why or where _that _came from.

He was very, _very _nice. It almost made me wonder why he was dating someone like Angel. Then again, Angel basically has mind control powers. It's true since yesterday she "mind controlled" Gazzy into doing the dishes while she got to go to the Juice Hut—the "hangout," as Nudge and Gazzy call it—and cozy it up with Brad. Jeez, teenagers these days have _no _respect whatsoever, I tell you.

And, which I hadn't considered before, Fang _is _fourteen and Angel _is _seventeen. So it basically would be either illegal (?) or creepy and unnatural for them to date. Go figure.

Angel put her Sidekick to the side. No, actually, more like _dropped _it on the side of her freaking plate, causing it to make an annoying sound that made me grit my teeth and my hands to clench and unclench under the table. Now I see why Nudge had been so tense on my first day here; I'm starting to freaking hate that girl.

"Okay, mother," she said sweetly, flashing a "sweet" smile in the direction of an oblivious—and not to mention frustrated—Dr. Lemon, who had started picking bread pieces out of Gazzy's spiky hair. Nudge had dumped an entire bowl of bread pieces—don't ask—on Gazzy's hair because he dyed her favorite hoodie black. Hey, I offered to take the offending black hoodie off her hands, but she merely just shouted at me, telling me to go away and leave her alone. Golly gee, kids these days.

Nudge noticed her smile with irritation and nearly flung her spoon, which was covered in gravy, at Angel. I said "nearly" because at the last split second, I kicked Nudge's foot under the table and grabbed her wrist, preventing any drama that was bound to happen. Cough, Angel, cough.

Fang smirked at us, his fork dipping into the middle of his turkey. He seemed to find the irritating problems between Nudge, Angel and I, hilarious. But, and to my amusement and utmost happiness, he uncovered to me that he actually didn't like Angel, as a friend or more. He was only there at her house that one day because he was waiting for Nudge and Gazzy. Fang even said that he, and I quote, thinks that Angel is a "popular wannabe drama queen who needs other people worshipping her at her feet in order for her to make herself feel good." And if you don't think _that's _hilarious, you need to check your brain for a problem or something.

We finished up dinner, without any more huge catastrophes, and that's saying something. After dinner, Angel went off somewhere—I really don't want to know where—with Brad, Fang went home and Gazzy and Nudge went down to play Guitar Hero in the basement. I wandered off to my room, after helping Dr. Lemon do the dishes—no pun intended. Haha, get it? See, because—oh you know what? Never mind—and clean the table. I flopped on top of the bed, the mattress groaning under my weight. Wait, but, I don't weigh that much, do I?

I maneuvered my hand under the black pillow that lay near the foot of the bed. I groped around for a while until my hand clasped my black iPod, and I pulled it out, along with my earphones.

I lay there for a while, staring up at the ceiling, London Beckoned, Songs about Money Written by Machines blaring from my iPod.

_I wonder if people are looking for me, _I wondered in my head, referring to Ari, Jeb and the people back underwater. A slight huge ping went through my heart as I thought of Ari. I did love him, and I left him alone down there. I felt so selfish.

_Gee, I wonder what school's gonna be like. _


	7. Chapter 7

**Just a random thought: Do you yawn in your sleep? **

**مرحب****ا**

**^That's hello in Arabic^**

**I don't really have that much to say, so here it is: Chapter 7 of FA**

**With love from Nowhere,**

**~St. Ryro**

* * *

I _really _hate red heads. A lot.

Sorry, for anyone reading this who is actually a red head. It's a fact, okay? I have absolutely nothing against Ron Weasley or the other Weasleys back at Hogwarts, nor do I have anything against ol' Pippi Longstocking, the classic favorite. Or any of you red heads reading this, for that matter! No, I only have about a million hostile things against _Angel. _Yes, folks. Angel the supposedly blonde now turned red head kook—I love that word as much as I love baffled, "kook."

It all started on the day after Dr. Lemon dropped the bomb about me going to school. I woke up as always, took a shower, got dressed in sweatpants and a P!ATD shirt, and then went downstairs with my iPod in one hand and a broken brush in the other, the result of me actually trying to attempt to brush my hair. As you can see, the results? Not so good.

I entered the kitchen and then just about had a heart attack. You might be asking, Max, why did you almost have a heart attack? Well that answer is quite simple, actually. Were mutant squirrel sharks attacking the kitchen and killing everyone and everything in sight? No. Did the bacon that Dr. Lemon was cooking in a pan just suddenly turn to live bacon things with legs and arms that were thirsty for blood? No. Did I walk in and see Angel, who was sitting at the table next to an uncomfortable Fang, with red hair? Bingo! Give the girl a prize!

See, I have a long and uncomfortable history with red heads. There was this girl back underwater, Lissa, who had violent red-orange hair. We were actually _friends, _to tell you the truth, for a while, until one day, in the third grade, Lisa farted—and loudly, I may add—in the middle of an Ocean Studies test and she blamed it completely on whom? Yes, _moi_. Poor, poor me, I was ridiculed for _weeks _by the other kidsuntil Shawn—remember him? If not, see chapter one—got caught jamming his ring finger into his nose and he got laughed at, me completely forgotten. Lissa and I weren't exactly on speaking terms after that.

"What," I said, bending down to pick up the broken comb that I had dropped upon entering the kitchen and seeing Angel. "The hell did you _do _to your hair? It looks like it got soaked in orange paint." I sat down in the only available seat next to Fang, sliding the plate of boiled eggs toward me. "Oh, and I broke the brush," I mumbled through bites of egg to Dr. Lemon. I gestured vaguely with my fingers to the two pieces of the comb that lay beside me.

You see, I'm not at my usual best when I'm eating. Despite me being _really_ thin, every time someone puts even a crumb of food in front of me, or at least, _near _me, I pounce on it like a couple of starving savage cats. I tend to use my hands instead of my fork or spoon—you see, I don't really believe in silverware or plates, for that matter. You can see why I microwave cold pizza without a plate—and my hair ends up getting laced with food. I learned a few years ago, underwater, that I should tie my hair into a high ponytail and roll up my sleeves. Dr. Lemon even assigned me my very own personal bib, since on my first day in the Lemon household—we had spaghetti—I ended up getting my Fall Out Boy t-shirt covered with tomato sauce. Boy was she mad.

I really don't know where I got the starving cat gene from, since Jeb always ate so proper and always took tiny, measured bites of food on forks and spoons, always using a knife to cut whatever. I don't think I've ever even seen Jeb get even a _speck _of food on his clothes. Ari and I had always been to preoccupied with the food in front of us to care about the state of our clothes.

Angel watched me with disgust. "It happens to be the latest trend. Brad said he liked it," she said distastefully, flipping her copper colored hair over her shoulder. Fang rolled his eyes at me and thankfully Angel didn't notice. _Diva, _he mouthed to me and I laughed mentally.

At least, I _thought _it was mentally. It turned out, as I dug my nails into another boiled egg, that everyone was staring at me, with the exception of Fang who was nibbling on a piece of bacon and peering at me from the corner of his eyes. "What?" I demanded.

"You just laughed, like, randomly," Gazzy said, shoveling Captain Crunch into his mouth, milk running down his chin. Nudge

I shrugged, noticing Angel staring at me. I narrowed my eyes at her and she looked away quickly, busying herself with marmalade. Hah, my glares scare everyone.

"Max," Dr. Lemon spoke finally as she brought the plate of bacon to the table. Everyone, including me, pounced on the bacon—except for Angel, who just watched us in disgust, like the little prissy drama queen she is—and for a few seconds, all that could be heard in the kitchen was the sounds of four teenagers tearing their teeth into bacon.

Shoving one fistful of bacon into my mouth, I raised my eyebrow at Dr. Lemon, remembering that she was about to tell me something before. She waved one bacon-free hand carelessly at the comb next to me. "How did you break it?" she asked me curiously. Angel snorted. That bitch.

"I, uh, attempted to brush my hair and, well, the broken brush was the result," I muttered through the amount of bacon in my mouth.

Dr. Lemon nodded thoughtfully. She picked up the comb and then disappeared through the doorway. "I'll be in the computer room," she called over her shoulder. We all nodded, unable to speak over the amount of bacon in our mouths.

Can you guess who didn't have bacon hanging out of their mouth, like the rest of us? Let me give you a hint, her name starts with an A and ends with an _ngel. _Ding, ding! It's Angel Lemon, the overdramatic drama queen, currently dating Brad, aka Iggy.

I opened my mouth to say something to Angel, probably to ask her if something was wrong with her brain because she didn't like bacon or something. Except I didn't get to actually _say _anything because at that precise moment, Gazzy let one rip and all hell broke loose.


	8. Chapter 8

**Just a random thought: What do babies dream about?**

**Γεια σας**

**^Hello in Greek^**

**Now I know you're all probably mad at me, me having not updated in all. But look, I just had a lot on my plate and all. I'm sorry, I'll update more, I promise. And I even made this chapter longer, you know, than my other chapters, just for you guys. So, no hard feelings, _please? _**

**With love from Nowhere,**

**~St. Ryro **

* * *

I remember that when I was little, Jeb got me this adorable little pink portable cassette player that he had gotten on a raid. It had come with a case of batteries and a book of cute little tapes that you could pop in the player and listen to, since we didn't have TVs or computers or anything—I mean, I didn't want to spend my time reading or anything as horrible as that, given that practically the only books we had back underwater were the _classics _that I mentioned in chappie 1. But, of course, that was _way _back when I was young and naïve enough to actually consider Jeb as a loving and gentle _father. _Yeah, imagine.

Anyways, back to the cassette tape thing. One of the many tapes in the book was a _very _scary ghost story called the Hollow Tree. Now I know you're probably thinking: _Hey, Max? Yeah, isn't the Hollow Tree a very not-scary book by Janet Lunn? _The answer to that, my sweeties, is both yes _and_ no. See, it _is _actually a book by Janet Lunn, but it's also a whole other different ghost story, the plot and characters completely different than the book. Get what I'm saying? I really don't know how to explain it very much.

The ghost story goes pretty much like this: it's about eight o'clock at night and a young boy, about 9 years old, named Sammy Longhorn is walking down a path in the local cemetery, bouncing a basketball around in front of him. The town that Sammy lives in, Gretel, has a particular legend about one lone tree in the cemetery that the locals call the Hollow Tree. The Hollow Tree, of course happens to stand on the edge of the path Sammy was walking on. The legend tells of a young woman named Susan Nancy getting hanged on one of the branches of the tree on Halloween by her evil ex-husband, Ferdinand. Basically, she died and the tree she got hanged at got haunted by her ghost. Easy, like any other ghost story about haunted trees, the idiot boy hears a noise and goes up to the tree; the freaky ghost kills him, yada yada yada. But then, here's the crazy twist though: as soon as Sammy got near the tree, his basketball ball started going all haywire and out of control in his hands. Sammy let go of it, and guess what happened, anyone? Yeah, the ball kept bouncing, without anyone's hands actually _bouncing _it. Apparently, not very concerned about the state of his own basketball, Sammy freaked out and ran back up the path, just as a woman materialized in front of the tree, holding the ball in one hand and a rope in the other. This woman was ghostly pale with straight black hair that hung like a curtain down to her waist and very crooked, yellowed teeth, but, most importantly, she had _no eyeballs. _Literally, it was as if someone had _vacuumed_ her eyes out. They were just empty red sockets. Yeah, whoever Susan Nancy's husband is, he must have had a career in scooping out eyeballs or something like that, because I have to hand it to him. Those sockets were _clean, _no trace of eyeball left. I sincerely apologize, for the gross image (the tapes had a story book attached—with pictures—so you could read along).

Yeah, so this story gave me gruesome nightmares for _two months straight,_ and I was like, what? Nine, nine and a half? I literally could not sleep. My stupid brain kept imagining the ghost—spirit, soul whatever—of Susan Nancy in my room, hiding behind the closet, waiting to suck_ my _eyeballs out. Trust me. That does not do justice to a nine year old girl's health, no way. Yeah, so that was pretty much about the point where I first started hated Jeb. Ari got a Hot Wheels Flip 'N Go Coaster Crash, and me? Nah, I get a shockingly scary ghost story cassette and story book _with _pictures. Can you guess who's the favorite child here?

So back to the point. The reason I'm telling you all this is because basically, on Saturday, Fang came over for a "sleepover" with Gazzy, so we—Nudge, Gazzy, Fang and I—all camped out in my room, roasting marshmallows over a plastic fire in the middle of our cluster of sleeping bags—don't ask. Angel was out somewhere with Brigid, her "biffle" as Angel put it (best friends forever for life, I think?). Dr. Lemon was out at the movie theaters with her adult friends—hey, I guess even adults are normal enough to have friends and go to the movie theaters without a paper bag over their heads—so in other words, we were home alone.

"Okay, who wants to hear a ghost story?" Fang asked Nudge and Gazzy, not taking my opinion on the matter. He was probably thinking that I could handle a ghost story as easily as I could handle Angel, the red haired bimbo. Boy was he wrong. See, ever since that Susan Nancy fiasco, I had kind of shied off ghost stories, scary stories, horror or anything like that, get my drift? Back underwater, we had had Friday night cookouts in the kitchen, where the younger kids would tell stories about haunted underwater caves and stuff like that while eating hot dogs on a stick over a portable fire, courtesy of Mary. Even though the stories were cheesy and not at all that scary, I still didn't go because every time I would hear the words "ghost" and "story" in the same sentence together, I would freak out. I guess that's why we didn't have anyone underwater named Susan or Nancy…

So you can imagine my horror as soon as Fang said those eight words.

"Yeah!" Gazzy and Nudge cheered, moving their sleeping bags up to near Fang. I opened and closed my mouth rapidly, probably doing my best fish-out-of-water expression. I tried to say something, but I just simply _couldn't. _It was as if someone had taken a gun and paralyzed me right then and there. Images of Susan Nancy flooded my brain, and I dug my nails into my palms to keep from screaming. Oh, yeah. I definitely had phasmophobia, the fear of ghosts. Come to think of it, I also had entomophobia, which is the fear of insects, judging by the fact that I had seen a measly caterpillar yesterday and completely freaked out. Gosh, those things had so _many_ legs.

I had no choice but to listen.

"This house that we are sitting in right no wasn't always a house. In fact, fifty years ago, it was the scene of the murder of a wealthy business owner named Jamal Wing," Fang began, in a scary voice. At least, I guess he _meant _for it to be scary. But to me it just sounded like a pedophile's voice. "Jamal had a servant named Theresa Addams. See, Theresa had what you might call "mental health" problems. She occasionally had spasms or seizures that were dangerous to anyone around her. Theresa was on special medication that helped the seizures and spasms, but it made it even _more _dangerous to be around her when she was having an attack." Okay, at that point, I don't know about you, but the story seemed ridiculous to me. "One day, she was tending to Jamal who was very sick with a high fever and in bed. She had her seizure and grabbed the knife she was cutting Jamal's dinner with. She sliced his neck open and then went crazy with guilt and stabbed herself, instantly taking her life. To this day, Theresa and Jamal's spirits prowl the house, looking for someone to put them out of their grief." Fang smiled evilly. "And it all happened in _this _room."

Now, _that_ last sentence certainly gave me the creeps.

Okay, now I think I mentioned before that I get scared at even the cheesiest of ghost stories, and the story that Fang told? Well that was even cheesier than most. I wasn't even scared. Until the end. Now that part creeped me out.

Now I _know _the story wasn't true; look, I'm not that dumb. This house wasn't even _standing _fifty years ago, let alone having people live in it. But the part about the murder happening in the house that I was living in, in _my _room no less? Well that just got to me.

I guess during the few seconds of silence that followed Fang's little spiel I had pitched over backwards in a kind-of-faint, since I really _did h_ave my eyes open and I wasn't seeing black or anything like that. I landed awkwardly on top of the fire, the plastic spikes digging into my side. My head flopped uselessly down onto the floor, and trust me when I say, _it hurt. _

I assumed that Nudge, Gazzy and Fang might've been worried about me because I saw Nudge's mouth move rapidly and furiously and I saw Fang's foot twitch as he leapt up from the sitting position he was in, but I really didn't hear anything. It was as if all my senses had stopped working the minute I had landed on the plastic fire. Well, all of my sense except for my sense of smell, which I _really _wished I could've traded with the ability to hear because at that moment, Gazzy royally and unexpectedly cut the cheese. It was like the guy in charge of my senses had pulled the plug on all of them except my sense of smell just to _torture _me with the only scent that could kill everyone—or at least cause someone permanent brain damage—within a twenty mile radius. I was just lucky neither of that happened to _me. _

And then it hit me. No way, Nudge and Fang were not at all concerned or even the slightest bit worried about me and my spastic issues when it comes to dead people. Nope, not even the slightest bit. They were just worried about getting away from Gazzy as fast as possible. Nope, not even a second thought for poor little ol' me. They were just too busy escaping from Gazzy. I tell you, some people these days. Talk about selfish.

And then, just like that, I regained the use of my senses.

Nudge's voice flooded my ears. "Jeez, Gazzy! What did you eat for lunch? I know for sure that we didn't have beans, cheese or any type of gassy foods. Why, we only had peanut butter and jelly sandwiches!" she cried in a nasally voice since her right hand was clutching the bridge of her nose, just like people sometimes do in movies.

Fang was too busy coughing and spluttering to even question Gazzy about the heinous act he had just committed—or to even _talk _for that matter. Gazzy was just sitting there smiling, as if he had just won five hundred lollipops or something. But here's the weird part: I was sitting up in my sleeping bag.

I knew for a fact that I, a split second ago, had been just lying like a complete and absolute idiot on top of the plastic fire in front of me. I _also k_now for a fact that when I had fallen on it, the plastic fire had tipped forward a little from the force of the impact, evidently falling on its side. But there it was, the plastic fire, sitting upright and seemingly untouched. Not like someone weighing 99 pounds had fallen on it or anything like that. No way. And another thing? The me-pitching-backwards thing _had _to have created a few wrinkles in the sleeping bag I was sitting in, but the sleeping bag's surface was just as smooth as ever, no sign of a disturbance anywhere. Something weird was going on, and I didn't like it (wow, that sounded like a line from a really cheesy movie, you know?).

* * *

I finally woke up at around 11:00 the next morning, which wasn't really unusual for me (see explanation in chapter 1). Fang, Gazzy and Nudge had all deserted their sleeping bags and I could faintly hear their voices coming from the crack in my door, mixed with the delicious scent of bacon and French toast. Even after sleeping eleven hours, all snug and tight in my perfectly comfortable sleeping bag, I was _still _tired and beat up from a night of absurd possibilities and toxic gasses. Not even caring that I was still in my Spongebob Squarepants PJs, I shuffled downstairs without even sparing a glance in the mirror that hung near the door to my room. That was the biggest mistake ever.

Rubbing my eyes and yawning a lot, I took my seat at the breakfast table, muttering a quick good morning to Fang, who was sitting next to me. I slopped some oatmeal onto my plate and then took two pieces of bacon, shoving them in my mouth. By the time I had finished the bacon, I was wide awake. "What?" I demanded, looking at everyone's face. Fang and Gazzy looked like they were trying desperately not to laugh and Nudge had a look of absolute horror on her face. The queen-bee was nowhere to be found (probably texting Brigid about her latest _nail polish_), and Dr. Lemon had retreated into the pantry, muttering something about trying to find some tomatoes for grilled cheese sandwiches today.

"Nothing," Gazzy said, his voice wobbling a bit. Even a complete and absolute idiot could tell that that _nothing _that Gazzy had uttered was a total _lie. _"Everything's totally fine."

"I found the tomatoes—" Dr. Lemon began, emerging from the pantry holding a bag of fresh, red tomatoes. She stopped short, however, when she saw me. Her eyes widened and her grip on the sack of tomatoes slackened a bit. "Honey, Max," she said in a gentle voice. "What the _hell _is wrong with your hair?"

I was out of my seat in a flash.

I guess I was kind of lucky that we had a mirror above the kitchen sink, so I only had to bump into just a few things before I got a chance to look at my hair in the mirror. Boy was I _furious. _

My hair was _green. _

I most certainly kid you not. My beautiful, originally light brown hair was turned a violent shade of green by none other than Fang and Gazzy. Now I know you're thinking that it's wrong to have suspicions about people before you actually know who did it. But, my dears, I actually_ did _know that Fang and Gazzy did it, and if you need more convincing look at the paragraph were they were trying hard not to laugh their asses off. Yeah, you get the point.

"Fang, Gazzy," I began in a carefully and controlled voice, spinning around to look at them. Both were smirking, clearly pleased by their brilliant prank. I was going to wipe those smirks off their faces real quick. "Boy are _you _going to get it—" My voice faltered.

Because instead of five people in the kitchen—Nudge, Gazzy, Dr. Lemon, Fang and me—as I'd originally walked into, there was an _additional _sixth person there, standing right behind Gazzy and Nudge. And no, it wasn't Angel.

Quite the opposite, actually. It was a _little girl, _about 6 years old with brown hair and brown eyes. She was dressed in the type of dress you would find in those really old western movies, the dresses that belonged to those petite, delicate girls, you know the type. She had _pigtails _and she was clutching a beaten up teddy bear in the crook of her arm. Oh, and she was _glowing green_.

And no one seemed to notice this, no one payed her any attention except me. Because no one could see her, only I could.

That little girl? Yeah, she was _dead. _


	9. Chapter 9

**Just a random thought: Does the postman deliver his own mail?**

**Halló**

**^Hello in Icelandic^**

**I was thinking about doing something with the next chapter. Like a contest or something. Like I would put one very minuscule detail in there that's _wrong _and the first person who finds it gets to be in my next chapter in something. An example would be me saying Max's name was Sally (it's not going to be _that _big of a wrong detail. Remember, it's just an example). You would have to message me about what the thing is, then you could either have your choice of what you want to happen later in the story or make up your own character that I could somehow incorporate in there. That's what I'll do. So, starting from the next chapter I'll do that. **

**With love from Nowhere**

**~St. Ryro**

**Spoiler:_ The whole gym class was done with the laps around the field and we were all clustered around the statue of Gregor Corback. Well, not _all _of us exactly; Carl was still on his first lap, his red hair matted with sweat to his glistening forehead. I heard Elanor moan quietly in expaseration beside me and I had to silently agree: This was _not _the best time for Carl's lack of physical ability to kick in. _**

* * *

Honestly, I don't really know how I knew that the weird little girl in the kitchen was a ghost. She didn't come out and tell me that she was dead or anything like that, no, no. It seems kind of silly but I guess I had a feeling in my gut, the type of feeling that made me just _know _that whoever this girl was, she wasn't normal. Or even _breathing _for that matter.

And the fact that she was glowing might have tipped me off as well.

"Max, you okay?" Nudge asked me worriedly, waving a mocha hand around in front of my face. I blinked slowly a couple of times, aware that I had been staring at the blank wall behind Fang and Gazzy for a couple of seconds, paralyzed. Or at least, that's what it seemed I was doing to everyone else. To me, however, I was just staring at a glowing little girl in a dress clutching a shredded teddy bear.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little…tired," I said groggily, as if I had just woken up. "I'm going back to sleep." I tried to ignore the looks of shock Fang and Gazzy—and not to mention Dr. Lemon—were giving me from across the kitchen, probably trying to figure out if I was just putting up an act to get them to lower their guards so I could let them have it for the green-hair thing, which is the usual, or if I was just brushing it off, which is the unusual for me. I really wasn't tired, obviously. I just wanted a minute alone with the dead girl to grill her for questions, because how would it look if I just said, out of the blue _"Hey, who are you and what are you doing in my house, you creepy little dead girl? _All of them would think I was crazy, talking to no one, since no one in the kitchen had any of the traits in that sentence. Well, they would think I was crazier than usual, I mean.

So instead of doing that, hoping the girl would follow, I turned on my heels and strode out of the kitchen, up the stairs and into my room. Closing the bedroom door gently behind me, I turned to see the little girl that I saw downstairs, materialize in front of me.

"Look, I already know what you're going to ask me," the girl said as my mouth snapped open, flopping down onto my now-rumpled bed. She tucked her feet underneath her and then looked up at me, her brown eyes shining and her porcelain lips curling into a tiny smile. "And I'll answer your questions as best as I can. My name is Ella Martinez and I guess you could say I'm nine. My mom and I were killed in a house fire a few years ago when I was six, in a house on the other side of town. I'm dead, as you already guessed," Ella added, her tiny shoulders shrugging up and down. She looked so sad that I almost marched over to her and gathered her up into a bone crushing hug. And as you know, I _never _hug people. Yeah, that's how cute Ella was. "You were born with the ability to see ghosts, Max," she went on. "That explains yesterday when you fell forward and no one noticed. Because to the rest of them," she gestured to the window, as if to indicate the whole world, "ghosts are the stuff of fantasy and fiction. They don't have the special ability to see the supernatural, like you do, Max—"

"This isn't the _Mediator, _you know,"I muttered, loud enough so Ella could hear me.

Ella ignored me, going on as if she hadn't heard me. "Yesterday, I'm pretty sure it was the shock of the ghost story you heard that made you faint. It might have something to do with your special gift, I don't know. I don't know everything. You had this gift since birth, but you really never discovered it or got to use it because, you know, the whole underwater thing. I'm pretty sure they don't bury people down there," Ella wrinkled her nose, as if the thought of burying people in underwater cities was the grossest thing ever. Um, hello? Have you ever heard of caterpillars, snakes, _spiders? _

"We didn't bury the dead people underwater," I cut in, feeling the need to explain myself and the city's habits. "Jeb and the others just threw the bodies out into the ocean, after they died." Ella wrinkled her nose again, the idea probably disturbing her more. "But why are you _here?" _I asked her. If Ella died in a house fire across town, then why was she here, telling me all this?

A smile graced her lips. I guess I kind of seemed like a creeper, looking at Ella's lips all the time. "Oh that's easy. See, you're my half-sister Max." Woah, wait. Hold the freaking phone. Jeb had another _kid? _And with _who_? What woman could possibly be dumb enough to...Gross!

And then,

"Your mom is my mom too, you see," Ella explained. "She was the one that died in the fire with me." A tidal wave of relief washed over me. I guess, you could be saying, _why Max. How incredibly selfish of you! Your long lost mother died in a fire and you feel relief? Shame on you! _Well, to tell you the truth, I felt relief because I was happy to know that Jeb didn't just pick a random slut in Green Bay. No, no. It was my _mom. _

"Where is she? Mom, I mean," I asked Ella hysterically. After a life of guessing who my mom was, asking myself constantly if I had inherited my eyes, my lips my hair, _anything _from her, I had finally found out who she is, and she was _dead. _Life just isn't fair.

Ella looked sad, her thin face scrunching up and her pudgy lips pressing together to form a depressed pout. She swung her short legs back and forth off the edge of the bed that was now emitting annoying squeaky sounds. "Oh. Another thing that you don't know about the dead and deceased." Aren't those the same thing? "Ah, well. See, Max. I think you've heard of the term "moving on," am I correct?" Ella said airily, sounding like a snot nosed brat from Harvard with her head up her butt. I nodded, imagining a pair of gold half-moon glasses perched on her nose. "Well, when people die, they have the choice of either moving on or staying on Earth. Mom chose to move on and I chose to stay, so I could tell you all this before I move on. I'll be leaving shortly," she spoke. One of her hands distractedly picked at a brown thread hanging out of her stuffed bear's ear and the other was absent mindedly smoothing the front of her dress down. The little things people do when they're the bearers of bad news.

Well that just _sucks. _


	10. Chapter 10

**Just a random thought: Can you cry underwater?**

**Ahoj**

**^Hello in Czech^**

**Hey guys. Sorry I haven't updated. I've been sick all week and I couldn't go near the computer. Most of Vices and Virtues got leaked so I downloaded that and it was pretty awesome. If you want the link to download, just ask. I'm also starting THROAM-fo****rgive me if I've been a little slow-and it's pretty good so far so I'm excited about that. I decided not to do the wrong mistake thing, but if someone can guess what song these lyrics are from, I'll do the same thing that I planned to do. **

**This is kind of an old song but it's awesome: _If all our life is but a dream. Fantastic posing greed then we should feed our jewelry to the sea. For diamonds do appear to be just like broken glass to me. _Here's a hint if you want: It's from a song from a band I talk constantly about (that's kind of a give away).**

**Sbohem!**

**With love from Nowhere,**

**~St. Ryro**

**PS-I might not update for a while-sorry-for reasons beyond my control. I'll try, but there's no grantee that I will. **

* * *

I looked down with distaste at the puke colored tray on the also puke colored table in front of me. On it, I spotted a bottle of chilled orange juice (not bad), low fat milk (yuck), a deformed cookie (double yuck), something that looked like lasagna (gag) and a couple of disgustingly fried potatoes (gross). How could anybody eat this stuff? It's ridiculous; it could give me food poisoning. I glanced up at Ryan, Carl and Elanor, who were all smart enough to bring their lunches. "What exactly is the lunch for today?" I asked them warily, trying not to throw up everywhere. Hey, give me a break. I only just started school _that _morning. How was I supposed to know that the school lunches were possibly deadly?

"Tacos," Ryan replied shortly, stuffing a couple of pizza flavored chips into his mouth. Carl nodded in agreement and made a sort of noise that was stifled by the amount of PB&J that was stuffed into his mouth; Elanor didn't even acknowledge any of us. Her brown eyes were glued to a lengthy page in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix and she was carefully dipping her spoon into the plastic cereal bowl in front of her, trying not to spill any milk on the book. Hey, don't ask me why she had _cereal _for _lunch_. I don't even know myself.

_How are these tacos? _I asked, my fork mindlessly pushing the potatoes around the tray. From an angle, the "tacos" kind of looked like Sloppy Joes. Really, _really _bad Sloppy Joes. I guess it helps that the cafeteria ladies used _hamburger buns _instead of taco shells. "Oh. I thought it was lasagna," I told Ryan. Elanor flipped a page noisily.

Ryan laughed, despite the amount of chips crammed in his mouth. "Yeah, some people get that illusion. Food here at Hillsmouth sucks. We once had something that had couple hairs in itfor lunch, back in the days when everyone was in sixth grade and we weren't that familiar with the school lunches. In fact, Carl got sick from it." Ryan nudged Carl who was digging into Elanor's lunch box, probably trying to find any other food besides Cap'n Crunch and one percent milk. The peanut butter & jelly sandwich lay on the table, long forgotten.

"Score!" he yelled, pulling out a bag of Lays Ketchup chips and ripping the top open. Elanor finally slammed her book down on the table (taking care to mark her page first, of course. And with a Harry Potter bookmark, nevertheless) and tried to grab the bag from Carl.

See, Carl is what you might describe as the cliché class nerd. He had curly flaming red hair, green eyes and round glasses. His face was a natural light pink with a few freckles dumped here and there and his nose was a little squashed, as if someone had punched him right in the middle of his face. And well, Carl was a little bit chubby. Okay, fine. He was really _fat. _

So you can imagine short little black curly haired Elanor trying to jump up and snatch the bag of ketchup chips from Carl's tight grip. "Let go!" she yelled. Elanor gets _really_ possessive of her food, as you can see.

Ryan wasn't really helping either. He was just sitting there in a sort of weird trance, staring at Verona Mathews and Mino Addams from across the room. And everyone in the cafeteria was yelling, laughing or talking loudly, so no one payed any attention to us.

I rolled my eyes. "Knock it off. Give her back the goddamn chips," I told Carl. Here they were fighting over a stupid bag of chips that you could get at the local store for about three ninety five, and me? Well I was just starving my ass off. Some people are just so freaking _selfish._

"Whatever," Carl grumbled throwing the bag at Elanor. She caught it in one hand and then went back to reading her Harry Potter book and spooning milk and cereal into her mouth like nothing happened. Of course, I was new, so I had no idea if that thing happened every day.

My stomach gurgled ominously and I painfully remembered that I only ate a _mini_ Twix bar for breakfast, not enough to last me the whole rest of the day. I picked and prodded at my lunch, finally giving into temptation and downing a large gulp of orange juice—hey it didn't look half _that b_ad. It was most likely safe, I think. The taco thing fell over on its side and red "meat" spilled out all over the tray. The tines on my fork scraped over the chunks of beef and turned my potatoes into mush. I could _not _just survive on orange juice.

And then I jumped backwards in my plastic chair, my fork flying out of my hand and my feet kicking against Elanor's legs. No _freaking _way. "The lunch just moved!" I yelled disbelievingly at Ryan, Carl and Elanor who were looking at me like I was insane—well Elanor was glaring at me and grabbing her throbbing ankles. Whoops.

Ryan shrugged. "Warned you." Carl nodded sympathetically and then pointed to my tray, elbowing Elanor in the face by accident.

My stomach grumbled painfully and my lunch inched its way off the tray again.

The whole gym class was done with the exhausting laps around the field and we were all clustered around the statue of Gregor Corback on the side of the field. Well, not all of us exactly; Carl was still on his first lap, his red hair matted with sweat to his glistening forehead and his breaths shallow and labored. I heard Elanor moan quietly in exasperation beside me and I had to silently agree: This was not the best time for Carl's lack of physical ability to kick in. Ryan sat a few detached feet away from us, under the shade of a nearby maple tree. He was, of course, harassing Verona and Mino with his eyes. I don't know what it is about Ryan, but he just has an obvious attraction to blondes. Makes me wonder what would happen if he met Angel.

Coach Peters huffed almost too silently and then blew his whistle at Carl in frustration and anger, a sharp, shrill and uneven sound cutting through the thick veil of silence that blanketed the valley the field lay in. Verona, Mino and the three other girls that sat together under Gregor Corback's golden arm all sighed in ecstasy and cupped their rosy cheeks in their palms, setting their elbows on their bare knees, their wrists hitting their chins awkwardly; it was clear that they were warm for the gym coach's form. And honestly? I actually couldn't blame them, with his tan, muscular legs peeking out from under black cut off shorts and a six pack defiantly outlined by the tight navy blue tee he was wearing. Not to mention forget me not blue eyes and blonde sweeping hair—and the fact that he was a delicious twenty five years old—I could hardly almost remember that my heart belonged to Fang and only Fang, who, in fact, sat next to his friend, a tall guy named Sam on the other side of the statue.

"Let's go Whiter!" Coach boomed, spittle flying from his mouth. "We don't have all day. You still have five more laps to do!" Carl, still breathing heavily, passed us achingly, almost done with his first lap around the field. The whole class all groaned in unison; we were supposed to be playing a class soccer game today, as Elanor had informed me in the changing rooms, something we had occasionally done back down underwater. I was really excited and elated because in the underwater soccer games, all the grownups were too lazy to play and all the kids that played were no match for me, so my team always won. I was happy to finally get someone, _anyone_ to match my strength and skill. It seemed like we were never going to get to play, seeing that we had only half an hour left of gym.

Ryan crawled over to us, his assessment of Verona and Mino finished at last. "I feel like giving Carl a high five for holding up the game. I hate soccer," he whispered. I shot him a withering glare, already annoyed with him.

"I happen to like soccer," I hissed indignantly, crossing my arms. Elanor chimed in with a couple "yeahs" and mindless "mhmms." I could tell, however, that she wasn't really paying attention to the conversation we were having. I bet half my money and life savings that she was severely missing the Order of the Phoenix, inching to review what happened to Professor Dolores Umbridge, since, as she informed me after that disastrous and disgusting lunch, she had read the whole Harry Potter series fourteen times, almost as much as the amount of Panic! at the Disco posters and pictures strewn on the walls in my room at Dr. Lemon's house (twenty nine). Honestly, sometimes I wonder about my sanity.

"Well that's just fine for you," Ryan said, making a bitch face. Um, hello? Spencer Smith has the _best _bitch face in the whole entire universe. He's really the only one who can pull that off, no one else. Nuh uh. Not even Ryan.

I rolled my eyes at him and then immediately winced when Coach blew his whistle again. "CARL WHITER!" he bellowed loudly at Carl. I hadn't noticed because I was too busy comparing and analyzing Spencer Smith and Ryan's bitch faces, but sometime during his second lap, Carl had collapsed from exhaustion in the middle of the track doing a complete faceplant on the red and white ground. "GET UP AND FINISH YOUR GODDAMN LAPS!" Carl didn't move and the class groaned again in frustration. All I wanted was to play soccer, and guess what? No soccer game. Life just _sucks._

And what struck me as funny—just positively hilarious—was that Carl could be having a heart attack or some other life threatening thing and no one gave two shits about it. All everyone was worried about was the soccer game. He could be _dying _and no one cared. So of course, just like last week in Dr. Lemon's house when I thought about how I would look like with makeup on, I started cracking up for no reason.

Elanor, pulled out of her daydream about Harry Potter, Ron, Hermione and Umbridge, snapped her head towards me, her eyes alert. Of course, the sight of her muddy brown eyes made me crack up more. And the fact that Ryan started inching away from me didn't really help either. Since I laugh loud, and _really _loud too, some of the people near me started looking at me weirdly, which caused me to laugh even harder.

"The new girl's insane," someone whispered to someone else. I think I recognized a twinge of Verona or Mino's bitchiness in the voice, but I was too busy laughing to care about who said it.

Someone must have called Coach Peters because he was at my side in a flash, drilling Carl for more laps forgotten. "Max?" he asked me gently. I had to crane my neck to look at him properly because somehow, during my crazy giggling fit, I had tipped over and landed on the wet grass that had gotten my clothes muddy. The sun cast a glare behind the Coach's head, bathing him in light and giving off the illusion that he was an angel from heaven above. I raised my hand to my forehead, still laughing, to block out the light. "The Pillsbury Doughboy is floating next to your right ear," I tried to warn him, but the words came out more like "the—sbury—boy—ating—ear." And it _was _true. The Pillsbury Doughboy, complete with little golden wings that sprouted out of his butt and a golden harp, was floating next to the coach's ear, blocking out some of the sun. It winked at me and strummed its harp, tiny, stark white fingers flying. He started off with a simple rendition of Mary Had a Little Lamb, and then escalated to Panic! at the Disco's Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off—look. I know you're fed up with all this Panic! at the Disco crap, but I'm not even lying. He was really playing Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off on his golden harp.

"You missed a note," I gurgled, smiling crazily at him. Me, being the little OCD guitar player I am, winced when the Doughboy missed another note in the chorus. "You missed another note. You're not a good harp player, you know."

"What's she talking about? Is she _insane?" _I heard a very familiar voice whisper to someone else. I strained my neck and shifted my head a little. Elanor's head hovered above mine, her expression confused. Her face was red and a fluorescent blue and there were tears running down her face, making little uneven paths in between the colors. Her hair was a light yellow, the kind of yellow that you see on yarn dolls.

"What's wrong? Why are you crying and why is your face red and blue?" I asked her, my voice oddly calm and serene, despite the fact that I was seeing Pillsbury Doughboys and random colors on other people's faces. My hand snaked its way up to Elanor's cheek and I felt around the dry and smooth surface. There were absolutely no tears, no sign of wetness or anything. But the weird thing was that I could _see _the tear tracks on her face, but I couldn't _feel _them.

"What's she talking about?" Elanor asked someone—I'm guessing Ryan. "My face isn't red and blue. I'm not crying and there is nothing wrong." But I could see the tears and I could see the colors.

I frowned. "Your face is red and blue, you're crying and the Pillsbury Doughboy is right there!" I pointed to the spot where the Pillsbury Doughboy had been, but I found nothing. It was like he disappeared. "He was right there!"

And then I heard one tiny voice—a male voice—say one word: _"Enough." _

And just like that, I was sane again. Just like that, I was normal again.


	11. Important Notice

**Hey guys. I know it's been a long time, and I don't usually like Author's notes. But I think that I need to put up an Author's note for this one.**

**I don't think I'll be continuing this story. I know, I know. I hate when I don't continue my stories or whatever. But I don't think that I can fully continue this, without confusing you, the readers, and confusing myself. Plus, all the plans and rough drafts for this story on my computer were deleted. **

**I'm starting to write another fic. It's going to be a Maximum Ride fic. Don't worry. I will finish this one. It's going to be called Invisible Girl or Invisible. Depends. This one is going to be slightly more easier because I have it all planned out and ready to go. Sorry, you might hate me and all, but I just don't think I can continue this one. **

**~Ryro.**


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